


honest comfort

by bratainamerica



Category: House M.D.
Genre: BDSM, Circa Season 3, Dom Greg House, Dom/sub, Hair-petting, Healthy Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kneeling, M/M, Non-Sexual Submission, Sub Robert Chase, kinda ooc? maybe idk, this is really angsty and focuses a lot on trauma, yes thats a tag it's what happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:54:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27094615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bratainamerica/pseuds/bratainamerica
Summary: sometimes, chase just needed to get out of his head.
Relationships: Robert Chase/Greg House
Comments: 6
Kudos: 46





	honest comfort

**Author's Note:**

> hey y'all, i haven't posted in forever! i know and sincerely apologize, sadly this has absolutely nothing to do with my other two series. this is a non-sexual submission fic, so if you're uncomfy with that i understand. i apologize for not doing shit recently, i've been feeling super uninspired but this got me going again. hopefully, my next chapter of high definition will come out soon. thank you guys so much for reading. have a good week my lovelies!
> 
> xoxo, ollie

House entered his apartment, the lights already on and the sound of a movie playing on the TV. His eyes drifted to Chase on the couch, this case had been extremely hard for him. House had seen it in the younger man. The patient, a fifteen-year-old girl came in displaying signs of alcohol poisoning. That was cut and dry, it was the homelife that had stressed Chase out. Absentee father, dead mother, and the girl was apparently taking care of her younger brother and couldn't be one to get drunk. 

House remembered Chase coming into his office earlier that week after everyone left. His eyes were red-rimmed with tears. Had it been anyone else, House would’ve made fun of them, told them to swallow their tears and be objective. But, this was Chase, and against his better judgment, House cared about Chase dearly. Chase never reacted like this, he wasn’t Cameron, he didn’t cry over telling parents their kids passed. Foreman got angry, his jaw would tighten and his words would be stilted. But, Chase, Chase balled up his emotions and hid them. 

Chase had slid into the seat in front of House’s desk, took the red and grey ball that Chase had gotten him. He’d spoken quietly at first. House couldn’t even hear him. Maybe he greeted him, maybe he didn’t. House saw his mouth move, but nothing came out. So, House had stared at Chase. Watching his every move, twitch, pause. “I always managed,” He had whispered. Even his voice sounded hurt. House didn’t know what this was about. He watched Chase’s fingers tighten over the ball, they didn’t loosen. Chase blinked slowly, House saw that a tear rimming his eye fell. It ran down his cheek, catching in the crevice between his two lips. Chase didn’t move to brush them. House wanted to, he had the inexplicable need to hold Chase’s face in his hands and brush his tears away. Except, it wasn’t inexplicable. House cared about Chase. In some weird, crazy, _unfair_ way, the pretty little blonde he’s been forced to hire, had weaseled (or should it be wombated?) his way into House’s heart. “Even when I was with Cecilia. I always was able to get high.”

So that's what this is about. 

“So you don’t believe the patient?” House asked quietly, Chase shook his head. His fingers loosened finally and then they tightened again. Chase bit his lip, House was almost worried that he could draw blood. Except Chase wouldn't. Chase liked pain, House knew that by the way Chase would beg him to spank him or tug on his hair, and he used to inflict it on himself, he’d seen the scars, heard the stories about days without eating, just to have a hold over something that was  _ his _ . But Chase wouldn't do that. He wouldn’t bite his lip until he bled because inflicting pain on himself wasn’t  _ him  _ anymore. He didn’t need the thought of fake control.

But Chase looked rough, and maybe House was wrong. 

“It was easy, when Cecilia was asleep, and as she got older she got let out of school later. I took care of her for seven years, you know. Seven, fucking years, and she didn’t tell anyone we were struggling.” Chase let out a weak laugh, a bitter air hung in the room. “I got a lot when Mum passed, I couldn’t get it until I was eighteen. I used the little money I got on cocaine and stuff for Cecilia. It was always there. It was always manageable. She doesn't talk to me now. She thinks I’m the reason Dad left, I’m the reason Mum died. She took after my Mum, she could be lying dead in a ditch right now. I wouldn’t know. ” House stared at him. Chase’s voice was so small, so quiet. His hands inched towards the tissue box on his desk and scooted them towards him. Chase glared at the box as if it had maimed and killed firstborn. “If she’s an alcoholic, she will always find a way.”

Chase hadn’t come to House as an Employee going to his Boss. He came to him as partner to partner. Either way, Chase was too biased. House had pursed his lips. Looking down over at Chase he furrowed his brows. “You’re off the case.” He said finally, Chase looked up, and House got a full look at him. His eyes were bloodshot and his hair greasy. Chase blinked, and House stood his ground. “Go home, Chase. Come in for clinic duty, but I can’t have you working on this case.”

Chase had hung his head like a sad puppy and slinked out of the office. House knew he was going to hear an earful from Cuddy the next morning, but at that moment, House knew he was giving Chase mercy, not a punishment.

That had been three days before, and Chase had worked his four clinic hours in the morning before Cuddy let him take off. The case was finally solved, the girl now in custody with her brother. House took off his coat, hanging his cane on the ceiling, and looking around the room for Chase. Chase was laying on the couch, shoes kicked off with a blanket draped over his legs.  _ 101 Dalmatians _ played on the TV, House couldn’t tell if Chase was actually watching it.

House slid next to him on the couch, lifting Chase’s feet and placing them on his lap. “Are you actually watching this?” House teased. Chase kicked blindly. 

“No.” He said. It was obviously a lie. “It’s just what was on.” House laughed, grabbing the remote and looking at Chase, who despite his protests, was incredibly engrossed in the children's movie. 

“Right, then I’m gonna change it.” Chase abruptly sat up, hand reaching for the remote. His hair was mussed up, and the blanket fell to the floor. House cursed himself for thinking the shorter blonde looked adorable. They were dating, House had every right to think he was adorable. However, there was the years and years of indoctrinated homophobia pressing against his forethought.

“Wait, I paid four dollars for this movie!” Chase protested, the pout on his face was obviously false but still enough to cause House to give him a false glare. Why was that movie four dollars in general? It’s from when  _ House _ was a kid. 

“This is my TV,” House stated. Chase stared, waiting for House to continue. “Did you use my credit card for this?”

Chase stuck his tongue out at House childishly, “Yeah.” He nodded. House’s glare turned real. That was four dollars he could’ve used for anything  _ but  _ watching  _ 101 Dalmatians _ . “I didn’t grow up with shit like this. Let me have my fun.”

House rolled his eyes, Chase maneuvered his way around the couch, resting his head on House’s shoulder. “We solved the case, by the way,” He said softly. The good mood of the room was gone, abandoned, and replaced by the guillotine hanging over their heads.

Like a lamb approaching the slaughter, Chase looked up, “Oh?” House nodded. The air around them filled with the electricity of awkwardness. “Is she okay?” 

“Yeah, she’s fine.” Chase dropped his head back down, somehow, House  _ knew  _ it wasn’t because he was tired. He could feel Chase blink against his shirt. “She has Auto-Brewery Syndrome. The couple of drinks she had at a party coupled with it made her body think she had alcohol poisoning.” 

“Oh,” Chase stayed silent for a couple of seconds, House waited for him to speak. House knew he definitely shouldn't have brought the case up. He wanted to open his mouth, wanted to apologize for bringing it up when Chase was so obviously uncomfortable with it. But he didn't. He was sure Chase wasn’t going to speak again and  _ 101 Dalmatians  _ played on the TV although now, neither of them was watching it. 

House turned to Chase who was staring, too lost in his own thoughts. House pursed his lips. “Do you need to get out of your head?” Chase looked up. House didn’t repeat himself. He didn't need to. He  _ knew  _ the blonde had heard him. He stared him dead in the eyes and waited. Chase only gave him a wordless nod. The non-sexual submission part of their relationship was unspoken, quiet after the first time it happened.

Chase was a sub, that much was obvious from the well,  _ everything _ , about him. But, it was Chase who said he used kink as a coping mechanism, and (surprisingly) House, who had told him there were healthier ways to use it. The agreement was silent as in the contract they had for the  _ actual  _ BDSM part of their relationship it went unwritten, yes, but there was the trust and the care that went with it. 

It was beneficial for both of them, Chase who used submission to get out of his head and relinquish the control and harsh roles he was forced to take on as a teen. And House, who used dominance to seize the control that was ripped from his claws when his infarction had happened. 

House was Chase’s just as much as Chase was his.

“I need your words, Robbie.” Always Robbie. Never Robert. Robert held too much trauma. If there was  _ one  _ thing that House understood more than pain, it was trauma. After all, House was filled with it. 

House knew trauma from abuse better than he knew the scar on his leg. He knew it better than how to ration his Vicodin and how to fake Wilson’s signature. House understood trauma, hell, House was  _ friends  _ with trauma. 

Maybe that’s why he liked Chase. Chase was broken, cracked and splintered, but he understood. He understood the way the back of your parents' hand felt against your eye and the hood you had to wear the next day to cover it up. The meaningless insults that meant the world to you.

House always said ‘ _ everybody lies _ ’, and for once, he included himself.

Chase looked desperate and heartbroken and House knew he was consenting, but, there were few rules House followed, consent and BDSM etiquette were two of them. House knew what it was like to have his consent torn from him as easily as a page out of a book. It was the waiting until you were asleep, Stacy took his leg, his father took a lot more than he cared to admit.

“Yes, please,” Chase borderline whispered. Chase’s voice wavered, House knew he needed this, more than he had in awhile. House almost wondered why Chase was so upset about this case. But House knew, Chase hated his mother, resented her for the torture she put him through, and it was the anniversary of her death. It still hurt, because in some sick twisted way you still love them. 

“Good,” Good boy was too intimate for House. Too kind, he cared about Chase. If he were a slightly less emotionally constipated man he would even go as far as saying he loved him. Though, if he were a slightly less emotionally constipated man he would call Chase, ‘Good boy.’ House nudged Chase with his shoulder, encouraging him to get up. “Go to the bedroom. Change out of your work clothes, and bring me your collar, alright?” 

Chase’s nod accompanied by a quiet, “Yes, sir,” told House exactly what type of night the night would be. Nights like these weren't rare, nights where Chase was pliant and malleable under House’s commands. Drifting deep into subspace with one order. 

When Chase came back, House was on the couch with two Vicodin in one hand and a cup of scotch (iced, always iced, House hated warm scotch), in the other. Chase, donned in one of House’s band t-shirts and boxers, handed the older man the royal blue collar. House always thought Chase looked best in royal blue. Chase was color-blind and barely knew how the fuck to dress, but House knew what looked good on him. The deep shade of blue making his baby blues brighter just by sitting there on alabaster skin.

Chase looked at House waiting for an order, House looked him over with a pursed lip. “On your knees, Robbie.” And down Chase went, he settled himself in between House’s legs looking up at him with wide eyes and rosy cheeks. Being uncharacteristically kind, House caressed Chase’s cheek, guiding the blonde to look up at him with a tilt of the chin. “I’m changing the channel, understood?” It gave him the ability to object, for Chase to tell House that just for this once he wanted to watch a stupid kids movie. 

“Yes, sir.” House’s gentle hand moved to Chase’s hair, it was slightly greasy, nothing too bad. The shaggy cut was a gorgeous look on him. Shorter than it was when he first met Chase, yet still as soft as ever. The old Disney movie switched to an MMA that House wanted to watch. Chase keened into House’s touch. 

“We need to talk, wombat,” House’s voice was stern, commanding Chase’s attention, even as he was bordering on subspace. Chase looked up at him, and House’s hand moved again, it rested on House’s thigh now. “Do you know why I took you off the case this week?” 

Chase’s blinked, “A punishment for being unprofessional,” House’s eyes were downcast, a look of slight shock spreading across his face. “What else would it be?” Chase was always more honest in subspace, his inhibitions lowered, and in dire need to please House. 

House avoided having important conversations (or well, he avoided all important conversations in general) about their relationship in moments like this. Chase was pliant and needy and sometimes so far down he allowed House to do what he wanted. But, there were some things that had to be handled in subspace. Somethings that House just needed Chase to listen to. 

This was one of them. 

“No, if I took you off a case every time you were unprofessional, you and the other brats would be taken off every week.” House could add another snarky comment, be more in character. But, Chase looked hurt. “Okay, why don't I talk to patients while treating them?” House asked. The dumb questions made him want to roll his eyes. Chase  _ did  _ roll his eyes. Chase knew these questions. He needed Chase to  _ understand  _ them.

There’s a fine line between knowing and understanding. 

“You need to keep objectivity. If you care too much or too little about a patient, you’re biased.” Chase straightened up more, leaning forward and furrowing his eyebrows. “What does being a dick have to do with me getting taken off the case, sir?”

House glared, “Watch yourself.” Chase bowed his head and nodded, “Robbie, you know for a fact that you lost your bias the second you saw yourself in her. I couldn't have you making a stupid mistake because you felt bad for your past,” Chase looked back up at House, his eyes bright blue and watery. 

“Right, okay.” Chase's tone was unsure, but House knew he understood. Chase just looked at him, he didn’t let any tears fall. House almost wished he did, he hated seeing Chase holding himself back for the sake of House more than he hated dealing with crying people. He knew the underlying statement of House’s words, he was saying he couldn’t let Chase be hurt by something like that. Chase relaxed, the tension in his shoulders depleting, letting himself drift from the borders of subspace to the far depths. 

“Are you okay, now? I’m not mad at you.” 

“Yeah, I’m okay, sir. Can we just continue?” House didn’t justify the question with a response. His hand left his side, wiping under Chase’s eyes, catching non-existent tears, and holding the youngest duckling’s face in his hand. 

Chase melted into the touch. His body going slack at House’s hand went down to Chase’s shoulder. Chase inched closer, looking up wordlessly to question whether or not he could rest his head on House’s thigh. 

House nodded and Chase complied, resting his head on House’s good thigh like it was a pillow. House’s hand dragged through Chase’s hair. Something he used to long about doing when he looked at Chase. Now, he had the blonde in his arms nearly every night. It felt good to have someone like him. 

He hadn’t had anyone do that with him in a while. Stacy came first, with her black hair and a kind smile. She thought she could defrost the ice giant. And, House had loved her as much as a repressed gay man could love a woman. It would have never worked out, even though the touch starved part of his brain cried out in happiness whenever she held his hand or gave him a small kiss on the cheek. Then Wilson came into his life, three years into his relationship with Stacy, and Wilson was his best friend. 

When House had begun to actually show feelings for Wilson, Wilson was married, it was after Stacy had left and three months later (two months before the end of Wilson’s second marriage) he and Wilson were making out in a third floor supply closet. It had only happened a couple of times and House hadn’t fallen especially hard, but the feelings were there. They didn’t linger anymore, but sometimes, House could still feel the brush of Wilson’s lips against his neck when he walked past the supply closet. 

Then he met Chase, and Chase was something else. He followed House around like a puppy, yet hated work and neither of them got anything done until he was forced to hire Cameron. But, it was the small glances, the grins, the shared inside jokes that made the other two ducklings glare. But, then there was their first kiss that made all kinds of alarms blare in his head, telling him the good, the bad, telling him not to go there and him going there anyway. He’d fallen down a rabbit hole for Robert Chase and there was no leaving it now.

And, for some strange reason, that was totally okay with him. 

House’s lithe fingers massaged Chase’s scalp, Chase’s eyes fluttering shut as he rested against House’s thigh. “You’re good, Robbie.” Chase hummed in response, “You’re a good doctor and a good sub.” Chase gave a sleepy grin. House could see the teasing tone and narrowed his eyes. “Don’t get used to me saying that, I’m not a sappy person.”

“I know, sir.” House nodded in response, his voice lifted in a smirk. “Thank you, Greg.” House’s lips quirked up into the illusion of a smile. 

“Of course, baby.” And Chase smiled too, it felt good to hear a pet name every once in a while. He could drift off to sleep right there, House’s hand in his hair, and him on his knees. It was small, and a little taboo. But it was comforting for both of them. And for once, they both knew that was good. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! comments and kudos are appreciated!!! 
> 
> xoxo, ollie


End file.
